Sunday Mass
by The Geeky Saxophonist
Summary: Wolfwood is left in charge of Vash the day he needs to preside at mass, and has no choice but to bring the 60,000,000,000 Double Dollar Man to church with him. What kind of morning is the Humanoid Typhoon going to have?


Sunday Mass

A Trigun Fan Fiction by Katie Y

Despite the fact he was usually an early riser, Vash the Stampede was sleeping in today. This morning, his bed felt much cozier than any hotel bed he'd stayed in for years and invited him to stay in its comfortable warmth forever. Half-awake, he had noticed that the sun had already risen, since light leaked through the slats in the Venetian blinds. He didn't have anything to do today, right? Outlaws deserved the chance to sleep in once in a while…

Someone was pounding on the door. Vash rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head. The pounding continued, growing in intensity as the blond gunman didn't answer. He hoped it would stop.

No such luck.

"Yo, Spikey! You alive?" A shout came from outside the room, accompanied by even more pounding.

"Go away, I'm sleeping," Vash mumbled into his pillow.

The visitor heard the sounds of life in the room, which only made him increase the volume of his shouting and pounding. "Open up," he demanded as he tested the doorknob, which was, much to his surprise, unlocked. Vash heard the door creak open and the sound of footsteps as the pounder entered.

"Jeez, don't you lock your doors, needle noggin?" he asked.

"Thought I did," Vash responded drowsily. He glanced over the sheets at his guest. "Go back to your own room, Wolfwood."

The priest grinned wolfishly. "No can do. The girls asked me to keep an eye on you today and I have no intention of you causing a disaster while under my watch."

Vash grunted and disappeared back into the cave of comfy sheets. "Why, where'd they go?"

"They were taking a day off from keeping you out of trouble, and that little insurance girl's got a bunch of reports to catch up on."

"At least let me sleep for another hour," he muttered. The outlaw had no plans to leaving his snug nest of sheets today.

"Sorry, Spikey." Wolfwood pulled opened the blinds which flooded the hotel room with bright sunlight that even penetrated the layers of bed sheets that covered Vash. "I've got places to go, things to do, whether you like it or not." Under his breath, the priest added, "And whether I like it or not."

When Vash made no advances at getting up, Wolfwood stalked over to beside the bed. "Alright, have it your way. If you're not out of bed when I get to three, the sheets are coming off."

"Don't."

"One…"

"Don't do it."

"Two…"

"Don't do it, Wolfwood!"

"Three!"

The clergyman yanked the sheets off of the outlaw. Vash then realized he had forgotten to put on his pajamas the night before and he was only wearing his undergarments and was, consequently, now incredibly cold without his snuggly-warm sheets. He also caught Wolfwood flinching at his scars for a split-second before he reacted to Vash's lack of clothing.

"Aw, nice, Spikey," he groaned, looking away quickly. "Get up, put some clothes on. We're going to church."

Vash reluctantly slid out of bed, wondering how he could have forgotten to wear his pajamas.

"Hurry up and put some pants on," Wolfwood demanded. "And don't even think of wearing that coat."

The blond gunman looked through his bag and came up with a decent pair of pants and a long-sleeved collared shirt. "What's with the rush?" he asked as he pulled on the slacks.

"Remember earlier this week, when I was talking with this town's priest? The one who helped out at my orphanage some time back?"

Vash remembered vaguely. The two of them had been chatting like old friends since, well, they were old friends. "Yeah."

"He asked me to preside at mass this Sunday since he had to go out of town."

The outlaw peeked over his shoulder through his mess of disorganized blond hair as he buttoned up his shirt. He couldn't quite picture Wolfwood as a traditional priest.

Wolfwood caught him looking and glared at Vash, annoyed. He quickly backed into the bathroom to escape the priest's piercing glare and took the chance to relieve himself and check his appearance. The shirt effectively hid his prosthetic arm—the only giveaway was his hand. All that was left was to tackle the unruly swathe of blond hair that never cooperated without a good helping of hair gel. With a carefully practiced technique, Vash had his hair coxed into its normal broom-like appearance in the course of a few minutes.

The clergyman had taken a seat at the small table in Vash's hotel room and was drumming his fingers on the wooden surface impatiently when the gunman exited the bathroom. "Can't your hair do anything else?"

"It's either this or what you saw before," Vash shrugged.

Wolfwood uttered a noncommittal response and got up. "You ready?"

"Almost, I just need breakfast." Vash was about to reach into the cabinet only to be pulled away by the priest.

"Ah-ah-ah—no eating an hour before receiving Holy Communion!" Wolfwood scolded, wagging his finger in front of Vash's face with a mischievous shine in his darkly colored eyes. He dragged Vash from his hotel room and away from the cabinet full of delicious food.

"But Wolfwoooood!" the outlaw protested as he was led down the stairs, through the lobby and into the street. The drastic change of lighting caused Vash to squint and instantly realize he left his sunglasses back in his room (which he had remembered to lock this time). Conversely, Wolfwood had remembered his and slid his over his eyes.

The fresh air, or as fresh as it got on the sandy planet Gunsmoke, quickly woke up Vash all the way. He then noticed Wolfwood looked much more priestly than usual. His overall appearance was way less scruffy, for one. It looked like he'd actually voluntarily shaved and his hair was swept out of his face and brushed into a nice part. He was even wearing the normal black shirt and clerical collar that priests normally wore instead of the suit he normally wore that was half-unbuttoned most of the time. The only normal Wolfwood-like thing he was doing was puffing away on a cigarette.

"Wow, Wolfwood, I didn't know you even owned one of those collar thingies," Vash remarked.

"It's not mine," he admitted, "I had to borrow it. Used to have one, though. I thought I packed it, but I must've left it back at the orphanage. Or something." He shrugged and unexpectedly turned a corner, losing Vash in the process. "Oi, this way, needle noggin!" he shouted over his shoulder when he noticed the outlaw had left his field of vision.

Vash corrected his course and obediently returned to the priest's side. "And your hair. It's never looked like that before," he remarked.

Indeed, instead of his black hair almost falling over his eyes and generally appearing like Wolfwood did nothing more than rake a comb through it right after he got up, it had been nicely parted and swept completely off of his face, except for a few runaway strands.

"Hm? Oh, Millie fixed it for me." Wolfwood turned another corner without warning.

The blond gunman noticed in time and kept in step. "I figured," Vash remarked with a smirk, which earned him a very un-priestly look from Wolfwood. Suddenly, he whipped an arm up in front of the outlaw, which Vash promptly walked right into.

"Ah, there it is, Spikey," Wolfwood said, motioning at a building right in front of them. "C'mon."

Vash didn't see what Wolfwood was pointing at. Instead, he had looked the opposite way and sighted a shop across the street. It was a very special shop. The best part was the large plate glass window with the wonderful word "BAKERY" written across it. The humanoid typhoon unknowingly gravitated towards the heavenly shop and its tantalizing smells that promised delicious pastries within. Vash found that his face was pressed against the window.

"Doughnuts!" he exclaimed as he sighted his most favorite food in the world, no, the entire universe! Vash stared longingly at the round, sweet, delectable pasties. He had to buy a dozen, or two…

"Oi! Spikey!" Wolfwood snapped. "Get over here!"

Vash was brought back to the real world and reluctantly returned to the priest.

"You should've gotten up earlier if you wanted to eat breakfast," Wolfwood remarked.

"I didn't know I was going to church today!" Vash responded, indignantly.

"What else are you going to do on a Sunday morning then, hm?" Wolfwood started up the steps. "Come on, Spikey, I've got to get ready for mass. Man, I haven't held one in forever…"

Vash followed. The church was somewhat small and pretty old (but not as old as Vash). It had probably been built while the town itself was coming up. The building itself was based on the traditional style of churches. When he walked in, the outlaw realized he hadn't even been in a church since he met Wolfwood. There were simple yet colorful stained glass windows adorning the walls. Around fifteen rows of wooden pews were lined up in front of the altar. Behind it, a crucifix was mounted on the wall. The atmosphere was quiet, peaceful, serene.

"Alright, you behave yourself for the next fifteen minutes." Wolfwood's voice echoed more than Vash expected it to. "And don't even _think_ about sneaking over to that bakery," he threw over his shoulder while exiting to prepare himself.

The outlaw slumped in a pew. He wasn't feeling very prayerful, just hungry. A breeze snaked in through the front doors of the church, carrying the scent of doughnuts from the little bakery across the street. Vash's senses were being teased by the hint of the food, which only made him hungrier.

"I'll come and get you later," Vash promised.

There wasn't much for the spiky-haired gunman to do before mass besides flip through the songbook and get taunted by the doughnut-smelling breeze. A flickering in the corner of his eye caught Vash's attention. He went over to investigate, and hoped it was something interesting to do.

Indeed, there was. Three rows of small candles were laid out in front of a statue of a saint. There was a small box with a slot off to the side, adjacent to another box full of long, skinny wooden sticks for transferring flame from one wick to another. Vash dug in his pocket for some change and deposited a handful of c-cents in to the little slot in exchange for lighting one of the candles.

Eagerly, he took one of the little sticks and poked it into the flame of a candle that didn't have much life left. Instantly, the wood ignited. Vash pulled it out to transfer it onto another candle, but a sudden gust of wind from an open window put it out.

The outlaw stared at it and blinked. "Bad luck," he laughed to himself, and stuck the somewhat shorter stick back into the candle's flame. Once again, the wind blew it out not even a second after he removed it from the fire. Vash glared at the window, a stained glass picture of an innocent woman saint. He decided not to blame his misfortunate candle-lighting problems on her.

After several more unsuccessful attempts, the candle-lighting stick got very short, so Vash had to act quickly before he officially failed at the simple action. This time, he cupped his hand around the flickering flame and with lightning speed, stuck it in to the neighboring votive. The wick ignited.

"Yes!" Vash shouted triumphantly, clamping his hand over his mouth when he heard his voice echoing like crazy. Hopefully Wolfwood hadn't heard that.

As he was supposed to, the gunman offered a quick prayer. _Please don't let that candle burn out. And help me take care of my brother. Amen._

Satisfied that the candle wasn't going to get blown out anytime soon, Vash returned to his seat. He wondered what time it was. That candle-lighting escapade must have killed some time. Maybe there was time for a quick nap…

People began to enter, slowly at first but the amount picked up and Vash abandoned the plan of nap-taking. They spoke quietly amongst one another as they sat down. Vash straightened up and tried to look like an average churchgoer instead of the man with the $$60,000,000,000 bounty on his head. He must have looked civilized enough, since a little boy of about five years and what appeared to be his grandmother slid into the pew next to him. The boy tilted his head and smiled up at Vash with vivid blue eyes that shone brightly through a wave of sandy-colored hair. The old woman, who had identical eyes behind a pair of simple spectacles, smiled and greeted him.

"Hello young man," she said. Vash definitely was older than her but didn't correct her—that would have been awkward. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you visiting?"

Vash grinned and nodded. "Yes, I've been traveling."

"How nice!" The woman picked up her songbook and ruffled through it, looking for today's hymns. "I heard that there's a visiting priest here today as well."

"I know him, I've been traveling with him, actually," Vash said.

"Really?" The woman peered over her glasses at the spiky-haired man.

Another family entered the pew, squishing Vash against the engraved wooden slat that ended the bench. The little boy looked equally squished between his grandmother and Vash. He pulled himself free and clambered into the outlaw's lap, which gave them both a bit more room.

"Oh, I'm sorry. This church's got a big congregation but not a big building," the woman apologized, "I'll take him."

"No, it's fine," Vash insisted. He looked down at the boy perched in his lap, who looked excited—he probably hadn't been able to see over the top of the pew before. "What's your name, little guy?"

"I'm Max," he said, craning his neck back to see Vash's face. "And that's my gramma." Vash shifted him and the boy into a more comfortable position. Max noticed his hands—one with a gashed scar and the other artificial, which he promptly poked out of curiousity. "What happened to your hands, mister?"

"I hurt this one-" he moved the prosthetic, "-really bad, and the doctor had to make me a new arm," Vash explained. "And this one," he moved his other hand, "got hurt too, but not as bad."

Max tugged at his pant leg, exposing his skin. "I fell off the stairs last week and scraped my knee," he said, pointing at a scabby red spot on his kneecap. "It hurt at first, but now it doesn't. Gramma says it's getting better."

The two of them glanced up and stopped their conversation at the sound of a woman's voice, who was reading the names of those who would serve at this mass and who it was offered to, and requested for everyone to stand.

Vash balanced Max on the back of the pew in front of him and held on in case he lost his balance. The mass started just like Vash remembered the last one he'd attended did—how many years ago was it? A slightly out-of-tune piano played the opening hymn and was accompanied by the wide range of voices from the churchgoers. The outlaw himself didn't sing, he was preoccupied with keeping Max from taking a tumble and looking around curiously. He twisted his spiky-haired head around to look for Wolfwood.

A small procession consisting of a white-clad altar boy, a few nicely-dressed parishioners in a neat line approached the altar, and among them was a prayerful-looking man clad in a green vestment, signifying ordinary time.

Vash didn't register the priest to be Wolfwood until the prayerful expression on the man's face turned to a _you better keep behaving or you're in big trouble_ kind of look when he passed the outlaw. He certainly didn't look like the scruffy traveler who loved cigarettes and motorcycles and expertly wielded a giant cross-shaped gun/missile launcher that weighed a good hundred pounds or so.

Although Vash had heard Wolfwood admit that he hadn't held a mass in years, the priest seemed to be doing just fine. In fact, he looked much more at ease than Vash had ever seen him, up there in front of the crucifix. This surprised the blond gunman, although it really shouldn't have, considering the man _was_ a priest.

Max still sat in Vash's lap, not protesting at the constant standing up and sitting down that happened during mass. At the moment they were sitting since it was time for Wolfwood to give his homily, and Vash knew he should be listening, but was more interested in watching Max draw. The boy was hunched over a sheet of paper supplied earlier by his grandmother with a fistful of crayons gripped tight in his little hand.

The drawing was typical of a kid of his age—crude representations of humans and happy smiling suns, and whatever else the child liked enough to bother illustrating. Max was currently drawing a little black cat next to what Vash decided was supposed to be a representation of the boy's grandmother. He almost missed the signal for the congregation to rise; he was so absorbed in watching Max draw.

After the lengthy profession of faith, which Vash honestly didn't know, the Lord's Prayer was said, and the priest said to share with everyone the sign of peace. Vash thought it meant flashing the v-sign and shouting "LOVE AND PEACE!", but instead, people were offering him hands to shake. The outlaw shook them, smiling cheerily and wishing them peace. As the handshaking subsided, the churchgoers all kneeled, and Vash followed their example. He once again wondered, _how many years has it been since I've been to church?_

Since he was so tall, Vash could see over the heads of everyone in the rows in front of him, even while kneeling. He had once again managed to forget Wolfwood was the man on the altar and for a minute wondered why the voice was so familiar. With all this wondering if the priest was really Wolfwood, watching Max's artistic talent flourish, and the promise of doughnuts, the gunman guiltily realized he hadn't been really paying attention at all during mass and wasn't quite sure what was going on now.

Something was suddenly pressing into Vash's back. He turned his head back to see what it was. Little Max was using the kneeling humanoid typhoon's back as an easel.

"Oh, sorry," he whispered, thinking the spiky-haired man didn't want to be drawn on.

"No, no, go ahead," Vash urged in a whisper. The feeling of crayons on his back resumed. It was hard to look like he was praying with the peculiar sensation running back and forth across his back. The outlaw hoped Wolfwood hadn't noticed, and thankfully, the priest was busy with blessing the gifts. Vash allowed his mind to wander again. _I guess this is how an easel feels,_ he thought absently.

People had begun lining up, from the back of the church to the front. It was finally time for communion. With a start, Vash realized that after he received the Eucharist, he could finally have breakfast. Eagerly, he got in line.

When his turn came, Wolfwood looked like he couldn't believe some horrible disaster hadn't occurred. Instead of remarking like Vash would have expected him to, the clergyman simply said "Body of Christ" and gave the outlaw the host. He received it and with a quick "amen", returned to his seat, passing over the chalice of wine. The thought of drinking Jesus' supposed blood creeped Vash out a bit.

The line of people gradually thinned out and ended. Wolfwood had returned to the altar to prepare the leftovers for concentration and Vash had resumed his role as easel.

"Almost done," Max whispered. Vash wasn't sure whether he meant with his picture or the mass, but both seemed to be finishing.

Vash had to lift Max on to the top of the pew one last time. The priest offered his final blessings before ending the mass with the sign of the cross, which the boy did with his handful of crayons. People began dispersing shortly after Wolfwood had left and the final hymn had come to a close.

Vash desperately wanted to get to the bakery and buy some of those lovely, beautiful, scrumptious doughnuts, but as soon as he left the church, Wolfwood furiously motion for him to stay put. The blond gunman sighed longingly, gazing at the bakery.

Max was tugging at Vash's hand, which he could barely reach. "Look what I drew, mister!" he said, eagerly handing Vash the drawing. He took it and examined it—he hadn't really gotten a good look at the finished work. There were two cheery suns in the sky, the little cat that he'd seen Max draw, and three people. The first two were most likely Max and his grandmother and the third was clearly Vash. He handed the picture back was about to confirm this with the boy when Wolfwood surprised him with a sudden hearty pat, or whack, on the back.

"Hey, I was expecting something to happen any second and it didn't!" The clergyman was quite pleased with the absence of Vash-related disasters. "I'm impressed." Wolfwood looked down and sighted Max, and kneeled down to be at his eye level. "Hey, little guy!"

"Hi, Mr. Priest!" the boy responded, allowing Wolfwood to ruffle his hair. "Look, I drew a picture!"

Wolfwood looked at it and glanced up at Vash. "Is that Spikey right there?" he asked, pointing at the pointy-haired figure in the picture.

Max giggled. "Yes, it's Mr. Spikey."

"Looks just like him." Vash glared indignantly.

"Here, Mr. Spikey, you can keep it!" Max said, waving the picture at Vash for him to take. "Gramma and I have to go now, bye!" The boy ran over to his grandmother and the two of them waved goodbye to Vash before disappearing around a corner.

Wolfwood was staring after Max with a faraway look in his dark eyes. "He reminded me a lot of one of the kids back home," he remarked absently. "I wonder how they're doing…" His face suddenly brightened up. "Hey, you behaved yourself, go buy some doughnuts."

"Hooray!" Vash exclaimed. "I'm coming, my love!" he shouted as he skipped merrily to the bakery. He got some very perplexed looks while doing this.

The outlaw burst through the door in a fashion that justified his title of "Humanoid Typhoon." His eyes immediately settled on the case of freshly baked doughnuts. They were the picture of perfection in Vash's eyes.

Unfortunately, there was a line to purchase the baked goods. Vash stood in line, fidgety and hungry. The queue moved agonizingly slow. He wanted those doughnuts so badly…

Finally, the spiky-haired gunman was at the counter.

"May I help you?" A lanky boy in his late teens was manning the counter.

"Oh yes please. I'll have...." Vash's hand dove into his pocket and resurfaced full of double dollars. "$$15 worth of doughnuts!" He eagerly handed the bills to the worker and watched with wide, childlike eyes as the delicious, desirable doughnuts were deposited into a bag.

"Here you are, sir," the teenager said, handing the love struck customer his purchase.

"Thank you very much!" Vash trilled, and stuck his head in the bag. "Oh, hello my darlings! You look so beautiful today…" he wandered out of the store in a dream cloud, receiving even more confused glances from the worker and customers. None of them had ever seen a man who loved doughnuts as much as Vash.

Wolfwood was waiting on the steps of the church, changed out of the vestments. The blond gunman nearly walked right past the priest since he was busy stuffing his face with doughnuts faster than what seemed humanly possible.

"Spikey! Hey, get your head out of that bag," Wolfwood shouted, startling Vash. "Come on, we're going back to the hotel, you ready to go?"

"Ahh! Oh yeah, yeah," Vash responded around a mouthful of deliciousness. "Wolfwood, can you marry me and these doughnuts?"

"Ignoring that," the priest muttered, putting his sunglasses on and lighting up a cigarette. "Let's go."

"Those are bad for you," Vash remarked.

"So are doughnuts," Wolfwood responded simply.

The rest of the walk back to the hotel was relatively uneventful. Wolfwood left Vash at his room.

"You stay here. I'll come back for you—" he glanced at the clock on the wall and shrugged. "I dunno. Sometime." The priest returned to his own room, a few doors down from Vash's.

Back in his own room, the gunman scarfed down one more doughnut and switched out his dress clothes for his favorite red coat. Carefully, he placed Max's drawing in a small compartment on his bag and slumped on his bed. Maybe he could sleep some more, before Wolfwood came back.

Someone pounded on the door.

"Yo, Spikey."

Vash this time answered the door, abandoning hopes for a nap. Wolfwood was there as expected, and he had changed back into his suit, half-unbuttoned as usual. "You're wearing that?"

Vash shrugged. "I could say the same for you."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

"Hm." Wolfwood grunted and started down the stairs. "I suppose we'll just wait for the girls."

"How long until their back?" Vash tromped down the stairs after his babysitter.

The priest shrugged. "A few hours."  
"So we're just going to sit around?"

"Sure. Unless you want to risk doing something crazy that will most definitely end in some horrible disaster."

"That sounds like a good idea. The sitting around one," Vash decided. Better not push his luck.

For the rest of the day, the priest and the outlaw could be seen sitting on the hotel steps.


End file.
